Narrator

Far, then closer, then far.

Sometimes one note, sometimes two.

Once I heard what sounded like my own name, faint and carried on the wind, and it made my chest go tight because I knew I was starting to lose the ability to trust my ears.

At dusk, we made a mistake.

We came to a place where the creek split around a big boulder, and the trail, if it existed, wasn't obvious.

The rain had erased footprints.

Darkness was coming fast under the canopy.

We stood there, panting, turning in a circle, trying to pick the correct branch to follow.

Tessa leaned close to the water, squinting.

"'Left,' she said.

"'We go left.'

Luke shook his head, breath ragged.

"'No,' he said, pointing."

"'That looks like a path.'

He pointed to the right, where the ground rose slightly, and there was a faint line through the undergrowth that could have been a deer trail, or could have been human.

Tessa snapped, "'Luke, no.'

Luke's pride flared again, and I understand it.

Fear turns into stubbornness, because stubbornness feels like control.

"'We can't just follow water forever,' he said.

"'We need a trail.'